


Of Overprotective Family And Shovels

by watanuki_sama



Category: Common Law
Genre: (Mostl) harmless threats, 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, M/M, Wesvis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:17:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes doesn’t know why people keep not-so-subtly threatening him. Or, five times Travis’s family warned him against hurting Travis, and one time Alex warned Travis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Overprotective Family And Shovels

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on common-meme on lj: “Travis/Wes, 5 times Travis’ family warned Wes against hurting Travis/1 time Alex warned Travis.” 
> 
> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 11.15.15.

_“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”_  
_—Mother Theresa_

\---

1\. _Money_

A case comes up involving stolen cars and modified VINs, so of course they end up going to Money’s auto shop. The greeting involves guns and enthusiastic brotherly hugs and Wes is almost getting used to it by now.

These conversations always go best when Wes is in the periphery and Travis and Money are bonding or whatever, so he hangs back and makes notes on what the two men say.

It takes less than twenty minutes for them to get what they need. Travis and Money spend five more minutes catching up, and then Travis is bounding out of the garage, ready to get back on the trail. Wes turns to follow.

A huge, heavily muscled arm falls around his shoulders in an imitation of a friendly clasp. Wes feels horribly intimidated. He swallows and looks up (and up and up).

“Um…”

“You know what I like about you?” Money says jovially, meandering towards the open junkyard. “You’re direct. You get right to the point. So I’m not going to beat around the bush.” He gives Wes’s shoulder a squeeze; Wes is pretty sure he can hear his bones grind together. “Travis is my brother. I’d do anything for my brother.”

The way Money says ‘anything’ makes it sort of sound like he’s willing to hide a body if Travis called in the middle of the night. Which…is…okay, Wes isn’t really sure where to go with that.

Money swings to a stop and levels a hard look at Wes. “ _Anything_.”

Now he sounds like he’s not just willing to hide a body, he’s willing to go out and create a body and _then_ hide it if that’s what Travis needs.

Wes swallows. “That’s…good. Family is important.”

Money stares at him, face hard as rock. Then he lets out a bark of laughter, and Wes would have jumped if he didn’t have a hundred-pound arm holding him down. “I do like you, Tightass.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call me—”

“So how long have you been sleeping with T-Bone?”

Wes chokes on nothing. He and Travis have only been sleeping together for a few weeks, and they’d agreed not to tell anyone until they figure out for themselves what this _thing_ between them is. So he’s shocked and more than a little outraged when he demands, “He _told_ you?”

“Nah.” The Samoan gives him a hearty clap, sending tingles down Wes’s arm. “He didn’t have to. We’re brothers, man.”

“I don’t know what that means—”

“It means that if you hurt my brother, I will hurt you.” Money gives him another heavy clap on the shoulder and Wes’s arm goes numb.

There are lots of things Wes could say. He could say that the last thing in the world he wants to do is hurt Travis. He could say that he doesn’t know where this thing between them will go, but he wants it to last for a long time, and he’d never do anything to jeopardize it. He could say that threatening a police officer is a bad idea, no matter what familial relations one has.

He doesn’t say anything, because they’ve just stepped out into the yard, and Wes isn’t going to say any of that in front of Money’s people or, more importantly, Travis.

Money lets him go—Wes isn’t silly enough to think he wriggled free of the Samoan on his own power—and he joins Travis.

“What did Money say? You guys took forever,” Travis says as they wend their way through the heaped cars in the lot.

Wes rubs his sore arm and glances behind him. There’s no sign of Money or his men, but Wes understands that that was supposed to be a between-you-and-me type of conversation.

He shrugs. “Oh, you know. Brotherly advice, that sort of thing.” He pauses. “By the way, he knows we’re sleeping together.”

Travis curses and is properly distracted from all thoughts of Wes’s conversation with his foster brother.

Which is kind of the point.

\---

2\. _Ronnie_

Dr. Ryan says, “Sometimes it’s easier to meet people in a large crowd than an intimate setting, because there’s more to focus on and less attention is paid to the newcomer,” which immediately prompts plan Introduce Wes To The Family. Wes doesn’t think this is a good idea. They’re still wobbling through their first three months of dating, they’re nowhere near the meeting-the-family stage, but Travis is adamant, and Wes knows better than anyone that it’s nearly impossible and hardly worth the battle to try and outstubborn Travis.

So he agrees. Since it’s summer, this means he gets dragged nearly every weekend to one family barbeque or another, thrust into huge crowd of people, and subjected to a lot of touching and hand-holding so everyone knows what’s going on.

Three weeks after the Plan has been implemented, Dr. Ryan asks, “Travis, Wes, how is meeting the family going?” at which point Wes crosses his legs and Travis bursts into laughter.

“It’s going fine,” Wes says in a voice that says it’s really not fine.

“Tell…tell them about…Ronnie!” Travis gasps, slapping Wes’s leg.

Wes smacks Travis’s hand away “I don’t want to talk about Ronnie.”

“Who’s Ronnie?” Dakota asks. Wes shoots her a dirty look for her complete and utter betrayal.

Travis takes a moment to collect himself. “Ronnie is Brandi’s—”

“Foster sister,” Wes interjects for clarification purposes only.

“—daughter,” Travis continues without missing a beat, “and my niece. She’s six and adorable and just a little spitfire.”

Travis leans back in his chair, grinning. “Anyway, Wes and I went to the cookout, and we were holding hands. It’s a pretty clear signal to those not in the know, right, plus, I hardly ever get any PDA because Wes pretends to hate it.”

“I don’t like PDA,” Wes says loftily, looking down his nose at the group.

“Wes won’t admit that he likes PDA,” Travis corrects. “So we’re holding hands, and making the rounds, saying hello, when out of nowhere my girl in comes up and kicks him in the shin.”

“I’d never seen her before in my life,” Wes says with utmost seriousness. 

“So…so then…” Travis giggles, trying to keep his composure long enough to tell the story. “She puts her little hands on her hips and she…and she says…!”

Travis loses the fight, doubling over and gasping for breath. He makes a flailing motion with one arm, commanding Wes to tell what Ronnie said.

Wes crosses his arms and repeats in a toneless deadpan little Ronnie’s words: “If you hurt my Unca Travis I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

Travis falls out of his chair he’s laughing so hard.

There’s a moment of stunned silence. The reactions around the room vary from shock to undisguised amusement.

Mr. Dumont gapes. “She said _what?_ ”

Rozelle asks with laughter in her voice, “How old was she again?”

Wes scowls, a nerve in his jaw twitching, while Travis rolls on the floor in hysterics.

“It’s not funny, Travis,” Wes snaps. “I still have the bruise.” He tugs at his pant leg, lifting it just high enough to reveal a yellowing bruise right about kicking range for a six-year old girl. Dakota, Peter and Mrs. Dumont make sympathetic noises.

“It’s…a little…funny!” Travis gasps between chortles, dragging himself back onto his chair. “She’s six! You were completely intimidated!”

“She had very hard shoes and her mother was standing right there,” Wes grumbles, slumping in his seat. “It’s not like there was much I could do.”

Dr. Ryan leans forward. “Travis, what do you think about what your niece did? Threatening Wes like that?”

Travis gives her a look, like _Did you miss the way I was literally rolling on the floor just now?_ “I thought it was hilarious. She’s _six!_ ”

“I see.” The doctor’s gaze moves to Wes. “And you, Wes? What do you think?”

“It’s fine,” Wes says, resisting the urge to fidget. “I understand where Ronnie was coming from, and Brandi pulled her aside and explained that kicking people for no reason wasn’t okay. No harm done.”

She’s watching him, using her psychiatrist super powers, like she can see right through all his crap to the stuff he’s _not_ saying. There’s a reason he’s not saying it. The reason is sitting right beside him.

He’s reasonably grateful when she turns her attention to Dakota and Peter’s car shopping experience over the weekend and they stop talking about precocious little Ronnie and her adorable little threats.

\---

3\. _Serafina_

“Are you sure I should be here?” Wes asks as he climbs out of the car. “This isn’t…weird, or anything?”

“ ‘Course not!” Travis chirps. He grabs the bags from the back and bounds up the drive, calling over his shoulder, “You’re family, baby!”

“Family?” Wes follows more slowly. “Travis, I’ve never even met this woman.”

Travis just shoots him a confident grin and bangs on the door.

The door is pulled open by a woman with hair like a fire engine. There is a lot of squealing and jumping and hugging and somehow Wes gets roped into the hugs too. And then a tiny woman with grey-streaked hair comes up, and there’s more hugging and Wes is ushered inside and really, at this point it’s too late to escape.

Introductions are made. Aside from the redhead (“Angelina, the coolest girl on the West coast,”) and the older woman (“My mama, Serafina, the beautiful birthday gal,”) there’s Treshaun, a twenty-something young man, and Franklin, Serafina’s husband.

“And this,” Travis says proudly, putting a hand in the small of Wes’s back and shoving him forward, “is Wes. He’s my partner. And my boyfriend.”

Everyone in the room shares a look. Wes doesn’t understand, and it makes him nervous.

But then Serafina opens her arms and gives him another awkward hug and says, “We’re glad you could join us, Wes,” and Wes decides maybe it was just his imagination.

Dinner is a loud, happy affair full of laughter and stories. Wes learns enough ammunition about Travis’s time in Serafina’s home to last him months. And despite not knowing any of them before tonight, they all go out of their way to make Wes feel included, especially Serafina, who keeps scooping food on his plate and asking about himself, and he can sort of understand why Travis loves this woman so much.

Afterwards, Serafina rises to her feet, and Treshaun and Travis both jump up. “Mama, sit down, it’s your birthday. We’ll do the dishes,” Travis says, putting his hands on her shoulders. Smiling genially, she settles back down, and the two men both disappear into the kitchen. Angelina stands and begins collecting dishes, and Wes half-rises.

“No, no, you sit down,” Franklin commands, pushing back from the table. “You’re our guest.”

So Wes sits, and he’s left with this woman he’s only known for a few hours.

It’s less awkward than he thought it might be.

Serafina watches him, eyes soft and a smile on her lips. “So you’re Travis’s boyfriend, hmm?” she teases, but there’s steel under the words.

Wes ducks his head. “Yeah, I guess.” He still gets a thrill out of hearing it. It’s been months and not only is Travis still saying it, he’s saying it to _his family_ which gives Wes hope that this relationship may actually last. It’s so much more than he hoped for when this thing between them started.

Serafina is still smiling at him. “You know,” she muses, glancing at the rowdy kitchen, “you’re the first boyfriend that has been brought to this house in ten years.”

“Ten _years?_ ” Wes raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh, yes.” Serafina sits back, mirth twinkling in her eyes. “Would you like to hear why?”

And Wes says yes, because he’s hoping it’s another embarrassing story about Travis.

“Ten years ago, I was in the kitchen,” Serafina says, waving an arm towards the kitchen. “And I heard a noise outside, in the yard. And do you know what I did?” she asks in the grand cadence of storytellers everywhere. 

“What did you do?” Wes dutifully asks, playing the part.

“I grabbed the skillet from the sink and went outside,” she says proudly, miming like she’s holding a skillet over her shoulder. “And I found a young man, climbing up the trellis on the side of the house.”

Wes sits up a little. “Did you call the police?”

“Police? Psh.” Serafina waves a hand dismissively. “Of course not. I pulled him down and gave him a few solid whacks with the skillet.”

Wes can’t help but smile, because Serafina is five-foot-nothing and probably weighs one hundred pounds soaking wet. She looks as brittle as a matchstick. But somehow, Wes can believe it.

“So then Angelina came running out,” the woman continues, beaming as Angelina comes out of the kitchen to gather up the rest of the plates, “she’s crying and yelling, saying this is her boyfriend. So I gave him another whack for good measure, for climbing up the wall when my girl should have been sleeping, and for not walking through the front door.”

“Mama got a fearsome reputation,” Angelina confides with a grin, taking Wes’s plate. “All the boys were scared silly. I had some of the politest dates in the world.”

“They knew who to be scared of,” Serafina says stoutly, nodding her head. Angelina just laughs and disappears back into the kitchen.

Serafina watches the doorway fondly. “You know,” she sighs, “even though they’re all grown up, they’re still my kids. Is this thing with Travis serious?”

Wes is a little thrown by the abrupt change in topic, but he’s comfortable enough at the moment that he goes with it. “I like to think so,” he says, which is more than he’s admitted to anyone else. But he likes Serafina, and Travis obviously adores her, so he figures it’s alright.

“Good.” The woman nods sagely, watching him. “Good. You take care of my boy. Because you know what?” 

She leans forward, and in a conspiratorial whisper, confides:

“I still have that skillet, Wes Mitchell. And I still know how to use it.”

Wes’s smile freezes on his face.

\---

4\. _Daniel_

When Wes says that he’s thinking about finally moving out of the hotel, Travis says that he has a foster brother in the real estate business, because _of course_ he does. And then he says that his foster brother would be _more_ than happy to show Wes around the market, because _of course_ he would.

Which is how Wes ends up standing outside a lovely little two-story home that can only be described as _‘cute’_. Wes really isn’t keen on the idea of a house that could in any way be described as _‘cute’_ , but Travis says he needs to give the house a chance and drags Wes inside before he can protest, to the amusement of the real estate agent.

The agent/foster brother/Daniel follows them inside as Travis looks through the house with an enthusiasm Wes doesn’t share. “Wes, man, this place is _sweet!_ Check out the size of this fridge!”

“Refrigerators usually move with the owners,” Wes says, running a hand over the curved stair rail. It’s not bad; the exterior could use some work, but the interior is classy. “Why are you more excited about my potential house than I am?”

Travis pops his head into the hall from the kitchen. “Seriously? People take their fridges with them when they move? That’s…ridiculous.” He pulls a face and ducks back inside.

Wes heads to the kitchen. Travis is not there. For a moment, Wes wonders if he has, in fact, gone insane because of his boyfriend, and then Travis’s voice floats into the air, saying, “And I’ve been trying to get you out of that hotel for a year now, I’m allowed to be happy you’re taking my advice!”

Wes peers behind what he thought was a pantry door and finds a small staircase leading up. Wes tries to decide if he likes or dislikes a secondary staircase in his potential new home.

He doesn’t dignify Travis’s words with a response, wandering to the sink. Daniel leans against the countertop, watching him and looking vaguely amused. Wes doesn’t bother to try and figure out why. He tries the faucet.

“So, you’ve decided to move,” Daniel says.

The faucets are fine. “Obviously,” Wes says blandly, opening the cupboards one by one.

“If it’s not too personal, can I ask why?” Wes shoots him a look, and Daniel shrugs good-naturedly. “Only, Travis said you’ve been living at a hotel for, what was it, almost two years now? I just wondered what made you change your mind.”

Wes turns back to the cupboards. “I decided I wanted something more…” His eyes, unwillingly, flicker towards the back stairs Travis disappeared up. “…permanent.”

“I understand that,” Daniel says sagely, nodding. “Houses are a great investment. You buy a house, you treat it right, and it’ll stay with you until the day you die.”

“Mm-hm,” Wes murmurs absently, peering at a dark spot in the corner cupboard. He can’t tell if it’s a stain or mold, and he’s not willing to pick at it to find out.

“Of course,” Daniel continues, “you _don’t_ treat your house right, bad stuff can happen. Floods. Fire. Tree branches breaking windows.”

“Insurance can cover that,” Wes says absently. He moves from the worrisome cupboard to the stove, fiddling with the knobs.

“Sure, insurance, that’s great. Enough money to rebuild.” Daniel waves the thought aside. “But money can’t solve everything, am I right? It doesn’t make up for the damage, and things are never quite the same afterwards.”

“Right.” One of the burners doesn’t light. Wes frowns at it.

“And of course, there’s always the chance that someone will sneak in while you’re not looking and take everything away,” Daniel adds. “Yeah, you can replace everything, but again, it’s not the same. All the sentimental value is gone.”

“Exactly.” Wes bends down, pulling open the oven and peering inside. Clean, roomy, well-used but cared for. Wes approves of anyone who takes care of their oven.

“You have to _take care of your house_ , because if you don’t, it’s gone and you’re SOL. That’s the important thing, to take care of it, or else it might leave.”

Wes straightens, frowning at Travis’s brother. “Are we still talking about the house, here?”

Daniel stares at him.

Travis’s voice floats down from upstairs. “Wes! You gotta get up here and check out the bathroom!”

A grin crosses Daniel’s face, and he says without a single ounce of sincerity, “Sure we are, it’s all about the house.” He moves across the kitchen and slings an arm over Wes’s shoulder, which is clearly meant to make Wes uncomfortable and only reinforces the belief that they were _not_ , in fact, talking about the house. “Come on, Wes, let’s go check out the bathroom.”

Wes does not buy that house.

\---

5\. _Annemarie_

Travis has this absurd idea that Wes needs more people in his life. (It’s stupid because Wes has Travis, and he has to deal with the people at work and at therapy and that’s _more_ than enough, he’s not so completely attention-starved that he needs to be constantly surrounded by others.)

So Travis gave Wes’s phone number to one of his foster sisters, because Wes used to be a lawyer and Annemarie is in pre-Law.

Annemarie is actually not all that bad. She’s smart, she knows her stuff, she’s just nervous. She sends him texts or emails about her homework assignments, and she asks good questions that make him think and really dig for all that lawyer knowledge he set aside years ago.

So when he gets the email from her after work, he thinks it’s just another question about class, or maybe an opening start to another in-depth conversation (he’ll never admit he enjoys talking to Annemarie, only because he doesn’t want to give Travis the satisfaction, but he does).

Instead, he opens the email and finds a picture.

This is the first time he’s seen her. She’s got long black hair and big soulful brown eyes and flawless skin half a shade darker than Travis’s. She looks like she could have been a model if she didn’t want to go into law.

In the picture, she’s frowning sternly at the camera, which makes her look both adorably attractive and alarmingly formidable. (It’s a combination he’s noticed a lot in the women close to Travis. He wonders if it’s a Travis Marks thing, or if Travis is just attracted to that kind of woman.)

In the picture, Annemarie is pointing admonishingly at the screen, and the text below it says, _If you love him, don’t you dare hurt him! Or I’ll come after you!_

She signed a little heart after her name.

Wes stares at it for a long time before driving to Alex’s house.

\---

6\. _Alex_

“Wes is sleeping at my house tonight.”

“…Alex. Hi. Come on in.” Travis holds open the door, letting his lover’s ex-wife step inside. “Why are you at my apartment at…eleven thirty at night? And why is Wes at your house?”

She glides inside, looking around in interest. “It really wasn’t safe for him to be driving,” is all she says.

Travis is a detective. He can put together the dots. “He was drinking? _Why?_ ” More importantly, why was he drinking at _Alex’s_ place?

As if she can sense the question in his mind, her lips quirk, and she says reassuringly, “He was worried about the lawn. My gardener’s out of town right now, so he came over. And, of course, since he doesn’t have a house yet so he can water his _own_ lawn…”

“Right.” Because Wes is picky, and every house they’ve looked at has something wrong with it. The houses _must_ be defective somehow, because otherwise Travis would have said Wes was getting cold feet, and if there’s one thing Travis can say about Wes, it’s that he doesn’t get cold feet. “So he went to your place and watered the lawn…”

“And when I got home, I invited him in for a glass of wine.” She shoots him another look, like she can see the nervous jealousy burning under his skin. “Don’t look like that. He’d been at my lawn for three hours; he was obviously having a bad day. _As his friend_ , I offered him alcohol.” She perches on a barstool, watching him. “He drank, complained about you, drank some more, and passed out on my couch when I wouldn’t let him drive home.”

“He really drank that much?” As if Alex showing up here in the middle of the night wasn’t worrisome enough, now Travis learns that Wes has actually drunk enough to pass out on Alex’s couch. Wes drinks, sure, but not like that. At least, not without Travis there trying to drink him under the table. “Why?”

“I assume it had something to do with this,” Alex says, and pulls Wes’s phone out of her pocket.

Travis takes the phone and looks at the open email. When he registers what he’s seeing, he can’t help the twitch of his lips. “Wow. I don’t think that was nearly as intimidating as she hoped it would be.” He glances up. Alex is staring at him, looking disapproving; Travis frowns. “Oh, come on, Alex, it’s harmless. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know that,” Alex says calmly. “I do. And Wes isn’t stupid, he knows that too.” She sighs softly, taking the phone from his hand. “It’s good, you know. That you have a family who loves you so much they’re willing to threaten any potential partners you have, just to make sure you don’t get hurt. That’s a very good thing.”

“I know—”

“Wes doesn’t have any of that.”

Travis snaps his jaw shut.

She watches him, blue eyes solemn. “You know as well as I do, Wes doesn’t have a lot of people in his life. He has his problems with his parents, and he’s not exactly going out making friends on the weekend. Wes has got you, and he’s got me.”

She leans forward, hands clasped in front of her, and he’s rooted to the spot.

“So this is me, Travis, asking you not to hurt him.”

It feels like the floor lurches under his feet; Travis stares at her. “Alex, I wouldn’t hurt Wes.”

She laughs, and there’s no humor in the sound at all. “You will. We all do. It’s what happens when you’re in love. That’s okay. Little hurts are forgivable. But don’t leave and hurt him so badly he breaks.”

Now Travis _knows_ he’s gaping at her like a fish out of water. “ _Leave?_ ” He’d be more ashamed at the way his voice squeaks if he weren’t so horrified. “Why would I—I’m not going to _leave_.”

“The evidence would suggest otherwise.”

“What evidence?” Travis has never left Wes. Well, not _really_. They’ve sort of broken up a bunch of times, back when they were still fighting constantly (and okay, it’s happened a few times now that they’re _together_ together but that’s why they have Dr. Ryan), but he’s never _for real_ left Wes. Hell, he went to _couple’s counseling_ to stay with Wes, he’s not just going to _leave_ him.

And then he looks at her face, and he realizes what she meant (because he’s not stupid, he’s a detective and he can connect the goddamn dots) and he blanches.

“Alex, _no_. I’m not going to leave him. Not like that. Wes isn’t like _any_ of them.” Wes is special, he’s a thousand times more special than any of his other girlfriends or one-night stands or exes, and Travis isn’t willing to give that up.

Because Wes is _everything_. More than just his partner or his lover, Wes is literally his other half, the one that fits Travis in all the ways Travis is empty. Travis can’t imagine his life without Wes by his side, can totally imagine them growing old together, Wes the grouchy grey-haired asshole yelling at people to get off his lawn and Travis sitting on the front porch laughing his ass off.

Wes is _different_ and _special_ and Travis would never leave him. And Travis knows he’s not had a great track record with relationships before, but _they_ weren’t _Wes_ , and Travis feels he’s proven pretty conclusively that he’ll always do anything for Wes.

Except Alex is still watching him with those eyes, the ones that say _I want to believe you but I can’t because Wes can’t afford to be broken anymore and I don’t quite trust you with him_ , and Travis doesn’t know how to change that.

“Wes loved me,” Alex says softly, and Travis’s throat goes tight, because he’s not sure if she’s trying to verbally attack him or not, but it still hurts. That’s one of the things Travis _does_ know, that Wes loved Alex, he loved her for a long time and it took even longer to get over her and what if he—

No. Wes is with Travis now, and so long as he remembers that everything is fine.

“But we stopped working,” Alex continues like she can’t see the turmoil in Travis’s brain. “So we went our separate ways. And it was alright. It was healthier for us to separate than try to work things out. I knew he would be okay; just as important, I knew _I_ would be okay.”

Travis thinks that Alex’s definition of _‘okay’_ leaves a lot to be desired, because he remembers what Wes was like after the divorce, a hollow-eyed machine who went through the days on automatic, but she pins him with a sharp, soul-piercing stare that stops him before he can say anything.

“Wes needs you in a way he never needed me. And if you leave him, I don’t think he’ll ever be okay again.”

She stands, gathering her coat around her. “I’m not in love with him anymore. But I still love him. So please don’t hurt him.”

Travis swallows, and manages to whisper, “I won’t.”

\---

Bonus: _Wes & Travis_

Wes opens his eyes and groans as light stabs into his skull. He _knew_ drinking all that wine last night had been a bad idea, but Alex had been so sympathetic and he’d been _so_ annoyed, and the wine had made it that much easier to talk about his stupid boyfriend and his stupid family. 

Then he turns his head, sees Travis’s stupid face, and groans again, flinging his arm over his eyes.

“What did she do now?” Because Wes knows Travis would never have come over if Alex didn’t do something meddlesome, seeing as how Wes is perfectly capable of functioning even while hungover and Travis therefore never would have known about last night.

“How do you know it was Alex?” Travis asks all offended. Wes lowers his arm to peer at him with one eye, and Travis shrugs. “Yeah, alright, it was Alex, but it _could_ have been my idea.”

In response to that absurdity, Wes covers his eyes again and doesn’t say anything.

The couch dips a little as Travis sits by his hip. Wes, being the good boyfriend he is, doesn’t shove his annoying partner onto the floor, but instead shifts a little so Travis is seated more firmly on the couch. 

“So you’re right,” Travis says after a minute. “Alex came over last night while you were wasted.”

Wes grunts, because A, he knew that, he said as much, and B, he was not _wasted_ , he was just a little drunk, and the only reason he doesn’t correct Travis is because his brain is doing a tango in his head and he’s focusing on not throwing up.

“She showed me the email you got.”

Stupid meddlesome ex-wives.

“Apparently you got the shovel speech.”

Wes frowns and lowers his arm enough to squint at Travis. “The what?”

“You know. ‘If you hurt them, I’ll hunt you down and beat you to death with a shovel. And then dig your grave and bury you so no one will find the body.’ The shovel speech.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I’m really not.” Travis shifts a little closer to Wes on the couch. “Annie didn’t mean anything by it.”

Wes lowers his arm some more so he can glare darkly at his lover. It may have been a mostly harmless email, but she meant it enough to give the…the shovel speech in the first place. Just like everyone else in Travis’s life.

Travis looks a little sheepish, and Wes sighs and covers his eyes again.

“Did it really bother you that much?”

“No, I’m lying here hungover because it didn’t bother me in the slightest. Four for you, Travis Marks.”

“Nice popular culture reference. I’m proud of you, Wes.” Wes growls weakly, but it fades when Travis leans over and runs his fingers through Wes’s hair. It feels good, like Travis is somehow reaching through his skull to massage his brain, and even though Wes _knows_ that’s not what’s happening, he doesn’t demand Travis stop.

“It’s not just Annemarie,” Wes admits reluctantly, because this week in therapy is about honesty and openness, and also he doesn’t feel well so he’s not really filtering himself as much as he might. “It’s everyone else, too.”

The hand in his hair stills. “Everyone else?”

Wes bites his lip. “Never mind. It’s stupid. I’m fine.”

“Wes.” Travis tugs his arm away from his face, peering down at him all worried and vaguely upset, and sometimes Wes really hates the little Dr. Ryan voice in his head that says _Be honest with your partner, it will bring you closer together._

Luckily, Wes has had a lot of experience tuning that particular little voice out, so he doesn’t say anything incriminating. He just sighs, rolling on his side and closing his eyes. After a minute of silence, Travis’s hand starts moving through his hair again, and it feels good.

“Wes,” Travis says, “I love my family,” and it’s not like that’s something Travis really had to _tell_ him, Wes knew all of that already, so really, where is this going because it’s coming to the point in the conversation where Wes will shove Travis off the couch and stalk to the bathroom.

And then Travis declares, “I love my family, but you’re my partner,” and Wes lifts his arm enough to peek at the other man. Travis gives him that smile, the one that says _Trust me, I’m harmless and innocent_ and makes people fall in love with him.

“You’re my partner, Wes,” Travis repeats. “You’re my number one.” He reaches out, clasping the junction of Wes’s neck and shoulder. “So talk to me.”

Wes rolls back over, squinting at his partner. “You mean that?”

“I really do.”

And Wes can see nothing but intense sincerity in Travis’s face, the same sort of intensity that Travis directs at cases. Like Wes is the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.

Moving slowly so he won’t jostle his head too much, Wes sits up. He takes a breath, steels himself, and forces himself to open up. It’s always hard, but it’s easier here, alone with Travis, rather than sitting in group surrounded by the others.

“Your family keeps giving me the ‘If you hurt him’ speech,” Wes confesses. “I’ve gotten it at least five times.” Travis looks startled, so Wes continues before he can lose his nerve. “I know they mean well, and I understand where they’re coming from, but I just…”

He sighs and looks down. “I don’t like being made out as the bad guy.”

“Okay,” is all Travis says, a simple, understanding, “Okay.”

Wes looks up. Travis gives him his _I’m being completely serious and sincere_ smile. “I’ll talk to them so they back off.” He takes Wes’s hands, pressing gentle kisses on his partner’s knuckles. “We’re in this together, Wes. You and me. So don’t hold back on me.” A rakish smile crosses his face. “I know that’s hard for you, but try, alright?”

Wes huffs a laugh, leaning forward and kissing Travis. “I think I can try that.” He leans forward, resting his forehead on Travis’s shoulder. Without hesitation, Travis reaches up and starts running his fingers through Wes’s hair again.

“Good,” Travis says, leaning back into the couch and bringing Wes with him. “We don’t work if we can’t take care of each other. So let me take care of you.”

“I’m not a baby, Travis. I can take care of myself.”

Travis huffs. “Stop being stubborn. The whole _point_ of being partners is that we take care of each other.”

He pauses. Then he grins into Wes’s hair.

“And now I get to give my own family the shovel speech. This will be fun.”

Wes hits him with a pillow, and Travis just laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be just a 5+1, but the scene with Alex ended on such a downer I wanted to give you some schmoopy Wesvis to make up for it.
> 
> This is actually something I wrote, like, a year and a half ago, then it got lost in my drafts folder and I just now dug it up again.


End file.
